


A Secret Chord

by LauraEMoriarty



Series: A Love for the Ages [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23664649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LauraEMoriarty/pseuds/LauraEMoriarty
Summary: And yet he knows that the attraction he has always had towards men is sinful; but he did not ask to love who he loves.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Sebastian Vael
Series: A Love for the Ages [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1703947
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	A Secret Chord

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cullenlovesmen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cullenlovesmen/gifts).



> Thank you to the awesome [Barbex](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Barbex) for betaing! <3\. And [T](http://https://archiveofourown.org/users/handersmyheart/), I hope you enjoy my very first foray into m/m.

Brother Sebastian’s shoulder aches as he dips his quill into the pot of ink, the feather long and stringy. The light is fading, and his back aches from the hours he has spent hunched over this illumination. Just one final stroke, and he will be called to— he is broken out of his thoughts as the cat that has been slumbering peacefully bats a paw unthinkingly towards the ink pot. He reaches out to catch it, breaking the vow of silence as he rights the pot.

_Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth—_

“God’s teeth!” It’s a blasphemy, but he whispers it. The cat is unimpressed, sending Brother Sebastian a glare, and a cranky thump of his tail lets him know just how offended the cat is. He doesn’t have the heart to be annoyed, as the cat is his only constant companion, a purring, annoying creature, but a creature of God nonetheless. Black with a white undercarriage and paws, the cat stretches out languidly, and Sebastian gives him a scratch under the chin.

_For your love is more delightful than wine_ _…._

The bells begin chiming for evening prayers, and Brother Sebastian stands, stretching. He looks over the methodical, careful work he’s been doing, the careful translation of a stanza of _Song of Songs_ , ancient manuscript of love and poetry. He rereads the last line he’s translated, uncertain of the lettering from the old manuscript, and a part of him wishes he could ask Father Orsino for help, but the father is busy, off ministering to those less fortunate.

_Take me away with you—_ the line reads, and Sebastian scratches at his own chin, the cat having given him another glare, before putting his paw across his face dramatically. Cat has been his companion these long days, the only other soul to hear him blaspheme, to hear the words that come out when he is completely and utterly alone. Keeping his eyes firmly on Cat, he exits the small cell he calls home. It is a simple space; a bed, a desk, and a single chair. He closes the door behind him, and hastens towards the chapel, ready to spend the next two hours in silent contemplation of the Word, the Eucharist, and the marvels of God’s creations.

_Let the king bring into his chambers._

And yet today, Brother Sebastian is _not_ alone in the chapel as he has always been. A new monk has joined him— blonde and tall, sculpted from the finest raiments the Lord has chosen to clad this monk in. And yet he knows that the attraction he has always had towards men is sinful; but he did not ask to love who he loves. He genuflects, before making the sign of the cross, and begins the first prayers of the rosary— the apostle’s prayer, moving his lips in the words that are so beautiful as to bring tears to his eyes, feeling the love of the heavenly, unknowable Father.

His prayers, today, are not as devout as they could be. From the corners of his eyes, Sebastian _notices_ the other brother at prayer. Notices the lean muscled body, the gossamer-fine hair like cloth-of-gold in it’s beauty, and it causes no end of distraction.

_We will exult and rejoice in you;_

It has been a long time since Sebastian has indulged in sins of the flesh, but, oh how he wishes he could take the other man’s hand, press a soft kiss to the inside of his wrist— but he cannot. Not now, no longer a novitiate, but a fully sworn brother of Christ. It is sinful, Sebastian knows, and even _more_ sinful to lust after one of his own gender, but he knows that God is a merciful god, and will favour him as long as he simply repents— goes before the altar clad in the garb of the penitent.

_We will extol your love more than wine_

But here again, he finds his mind wandering from the devotion of prayer, stealing sidelong glances beneath lowered lids, wishing he could simply… _give in_ to the sinful temptation. He hears the other praying the same stage of the _Pater Noster_ as he is, and continues the line.

“ _Et ne nos inducas in tentationem_ _…_.” Sebastian finds it hard to stop himself from wishing— and oh, how he wishes— that he could give into the temptation to haul this new monk against a pillar, and plunder his mouth. Or behind his carrel, the two of them locked together in a tender embrace.

Much later, Sebastian glances up to see the monk in the library, and admires once more the man’s physique. He leans against the stacks, looking uncertain. But Sebastian rubs his tired eyes, certain it’s an illusion. He has been working on another line of the poem, this one from the bride’s point of view. He could use another opinion, and so he puts his quill down, careful not to blot the fine vellum, and stretches.

_My beloved is mine, and I am his_ _…_

He needs courage to talk to the new monk, though he has ale and bread back in his cell, the ale for courage, the bread for sustenance. And yet, he doesn’t know whether this monk has taken the vows of silence some monks take in this abbey. He could ask the new monk to join him in breaking bread in memory of Christ’s last supper. But he doesn’t— too nervous, butterflies in his stomach, and the knowledge that what he wants from the other is sinful.

And so his days pass. The new monk settles in, and starts sharing Sebastian’s labours, a constant presence, silent and contemplative. They work together, heads bent low over the fine vellum, quills scratching away as each of them transcribe and illuminate the scenes from this beautiful book of poetry. For _Solomon_ _’s Song_ can only be described as poetry, the melody something he has never heard before.

One night, restless in his cell, tossing and turning on the lumpy, straw-filled pallet, Sebastian breaks a cardinal rule. Knowing he must not disturb the other monks that share his cell, he rises, dressing in the itchy woollen habit that hangs on the small chair in his cell. The garb of the penitent, it reminds him of the suffering of Our Lord upon the cross, and so he dons it, pulling the belt tight around his middle.

He smells the air, fresh and with a biting wind that blows through the windows. There is a hint of snow in the wind, and Sebastian shivers, drawing his robe around him as he makes his way to the kitchen, and the warmth of the fire there. It is not a large kitchen, not like those in other monasteries, rather a cosy one, the scent of bread wafting on the wind as he approaches the door. He puts his hand out to touch the warm knob and opens the door.

Brother Cullen is seated at the small table, leavening loaves of bread surrounding him.

“Brother Cullen, is anything amiss?” Sebastian frowns, thoughts of his vows forgotten as the golden-haired man looks up from his rosary.

“It is cold,” Brother Cullen says, and meets Sebastian’s eyes.

“Aye, it is,” Sebastian gulps, not daring to look away, because he sees the same longing in Cullen’s eyes. “Shall we warm ourselves by the fire?”

Brother Cullen nods, and Sebastian rounds the table, putting his hand on Brother Cullen’s shoulders.

_Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth,_ Sebastian remembers the line, and more than anything, the months of longing— lying aching and hard in his little cot, threaten to intrude. He wonders if Brother Cullen knows of it, whether they both harbour the same feelings.

And then Brother Cullen stands, turning, his hand reaching hesitantly to lightly grip the fabric of Sebastian’s robe, and pulls him close. Sebastian’s breath hitches in his throat.

Their lips meet, and it is their undoing: this soft, hesitant kiss that soon morphs into something more— the pent-up desire of a year. If Brother Cullen had more hair, Sebastian’s hand would be threading through it, but he settles on the curve of his neck, his other hand on Brother Cullen’s waist, pulling the other man closer to him as the kiss deepens, lips parting, tongues touching. The soft rasp of the other’s unshaven chin against skin, and Sebastian hauling Cullen against him, their pelvises flush. And oh, how he wants Brother Cullen in the most sinful way possible.

Sebastian’s hands clench Brother Cullen’s arse, and he loves how firm it is. The lean sinew of his arms, the hardness of his chest— these are things Sebastian notices as they kiss, their hands wandering, their pelvises grinding. They move, Sebastian pushing Brother Cullen onto the table, and he follows, hands rucking up their robes. Sebastian kisses the inside of Brother Cullen’s calf, along the insides of his thighs, until he reaches for Brother Cullen’s rapidly-hardening cock.

“We cannot,” Sebastian whispers hoarsely, feeling his own cock rising to the occasion.

“ _Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth,_ ” Cullen quotes, pulling Sebastian back down onto him. “We don’t have to do anything else…”

Sebastian is powerless to resist.

Temptation is easy, giving in is easier still.

And so they break the rules given by God.

Many times over.


End file.
